Blaster
A tale of pest control
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I grinned as I parked my truck, wondering if Angie would be surprised that I was home early. I wasn't done with the repair, but it needed parts, parts I had in stock in my shed. The job was seventy-five miles away, and normally I would have stayed until finish, but when I ordered the part I needed, I found it would be a three day wait. The farmer couldn't let his threshing machine stand idle that long, and I made repairs like this often, so I fabricated a few at a time.
If I went and got it the owner saved at least two days, and when you're farming, and it comes to harvest, time was money, and he offered another two hundred when I told him I knew where I could get the part. I never told him I made it because technically, while it wasn't illegal, it was frowned on, and I had a good relationship with my suppliers.
I had come in off the farm road, pulling up to my service building. Smiling, I parked my truck, but it turned to a frown when I saw the vehicles. A flashy vintage Mercedes convertable with the top down, and a black suv. Just as I turned my key the door flew open, and a huge black guy stood in it, a large automatic in his hands. Immediately fearing the worst for my wife, I raised my hands as he ushered me inside. I got a good look at his weapon, and though I had never seen one before, I recognized the silencer.
Fear turned to terror when he ushered me to the dining room, and I saw Angie splayed out on the table, stark naked. A small man was there, also naked, her juices still glistening on his cock. He grinned. "You're not supposed to be here, but now's as good a time as any to share the news. The bitch loves my cock, and I'm taking her home with me. We been fucking for about eight months now, it was damn covenient you traveled so much."
"Wha...why? Angie?"
She sat up, grinning. "You spoiled the plan, damn it! I was letting his come slid out right in front of where you sit, so even though I'm gone and you'd never know, you'd be eating over his cumstains. The why? He's rich and powerful, and gives me anything I want. Of course, I had to leave most of it at his house, but now that you know. Expect to see me in designer dresses in court, maybe even a fur coat depending how long it takes. "
Small Man was grinning. "Here's the deal. This is a nice place, so she gets it in the divorce. In return, you get to keep your business and whatever pennies you got saved up. It don't matter if you agree or not, it'll happen."
My house sat on thirty-five acres, all that was left of the big farm my great-great-grandfather had purchased before there was even a state here. I finally found my tounge. "Over my dead body!"
"Oh, you've chosen Plan B. I'll give you one more chance. Jerome, convince the man."
Jerome was probably six five of bulging muscles, and he was grinning. "Gotcha, boss. I won't break anything on his right hand, so he can sign."
"Good idea. If he gives you any kind of fight, shoot him. Widowhood will work just as good, it might even be better."
Jerome had laid his weapon on the table so he could kick ass. I had backed up behind the table, right in front of the old fashioned picture window my loving wife refused to let me replace. I held the opinion it raised our heating and colling costs, but Angie loved the view. He wasn't expecting it, and I threw one of the heavy oak chairs at him, catching him by surprise and knocking him down. The other guy raised his weapon and the boss was screaming to him to shoot me, so I snatched up another chair and threw it through the window, with me right behind it.
I hit the ground and bounced up running. Jerome had grabbed his weapon and jumped through the window right behind me, shooting as he ran. I could hear it make sounds kinda like compressed air, and could see the dirt gouges flying up in the light of the full moon. Then it felt like somebody ran a hot bar across my arm and it made me run faster. My tool shed was to my right so I darted in and slammed the door, turning the lock. Jerome was cussin' a mile a minute. "You little shit! Come out or I'll kill you slow!"
I was looking around desperately for a defensive weapon when I saw it. We lived in an area right on the edge of Kudzu range, and I'd bought one of those weed burners to keep them at bay. Angie loved it, but complained about carrying around the heavy propane tank. Then one day she showed me a couple of sites on Youtube. Elon Musk actually sold flamethrowers that looked like water blasters kids use, but they were sold out. There was another site called The Hack Brothers that copied it, using a kids' toy as a base.
Being a welder, a machinist, and a mechanic, it didn't take me long to figure something out. I used an old .410 shotgun that a friend gave me because it was damaged, and no good. I bought the parts, running a metal pipe up the barrel, then installing a burner head I'd modified until with a twist, it could go from a flame about six inches around to one a fourth that. A side effect was when it was turned down it shot three times as far. It was rated at 3400 degrees at full volume, and I figured it did about four thousand when it was choked down. I put an adapter on to convert it to be able to run off the small cylinders campers used for stoves and lanterns. A full tank would last about fifteen minutes, and I removed the trigger and replaced it with a high powered igniter, because the standard would choke down if you tried to ignite it with the valve wide open. The valve was right in front of the trigger guard, a flick of a finger opened it.
Angie loved it, named it The Blaster, and here it was. I managed to screw a new cylinder on while he beat on the door, then reached up and unlocked it, just as he slammed it with his shoulder. He fell inside, scrambling up, pistol in hand, looking for me.
When he saw me, the blaster was about eighteen inches from his face. His last vision on this earth was the flame blossoming. When you get hit in the face with three thousand degrees of heat at that range, bad things happen. Your eyeballs melt instantly, and your nose is charred down to cartilege. Your lips are burned off, and your tongue looks like a bratwurst left on the grill too long. The flame travels down your throat, searing your lungs. You flop on the ground making strangled 'gakking' noises, in extreme pain I imagine, until you die.
Not that I cared, but I dragged him out of the shed because his clothes were on fire. I looked at the misshapen lump on top of his shoulders, and remembered the sneer on his face as he was going to attack me. Fuck him! He probably got what he deserved, and I wondered how many other husbands had excperienced pain at his hand.
My adrenalin was still pumping, and now I was angry. Very angry. I picked up the Blaster, and the pistol, checking the magazine. Three bullets left. Then it occurred to me he would not travel without a reload, and found two magazines in his belt. I slammed a full one in, racking the slide as I walked towards the house. I didn't have a plan, but as I went by the little sports car, I had an idea. One long spray with the blaster had it on fire, even the tires were burning. I waited by the door, waiting for them to notice. Three minutes later there were shouts and screams, and his other goon opened the door, and was immediately shot in the face twice before he fell, deader tham my marriage. I shoved the pistol in my belt, and walked into the dining room.
Angie must have embraced a nudist lifestyle, because she was still naked, as was asshole. He had a small automatic in his hand, but before he could bring it to bear, I gave him a shot with the Blaster. Right in the groin. He was incinerated from the top of his thighs to the bottom of his stomach. I'd never heard anyone scream that loud, and he twirled around, looking for... I have no idea. He still had hold of the pistol, and was emptying the magazine randomly. Two rounds managed to find Angie. One to the head, the other to her crotch. She was dead before she hit the ground.
This wasn't what I had in mind at all, but I didn't have time to deal with it. Instead I focused on the asshole. He still held the pistol, more from instinct from anything else, but it was empty. The last thing he saw in this world was the bloom of fire as I gave him a three second blast to the face. It took him about five minutes to die. Exhuasted, I started to sit down, when I realized the house was on fire! It seemed I hit the curtains, and they went up in flames. My old house had interior boards made of heart pine, that I had sanded down and stained. My insurance agent told me it added five thousand dollars in value, but that wasn't the point. The stained wood caught fire pretty quick.
I realized this could solve a lot of my problems, and I ran out past the burning car, threw the dead guy in a wheelbarrow, and rolled him up to the door, tilting it and dumping him beside his partner. I ran back to the shed, shut the door, jumped in my truck, and drove away, slowly, going out the same way I came in. Just before I got out of sight there was an explosion and a ball of fire shot into the sky, so the fire must have reached the gas tank of the car. As soon as I hit the main highway I sped up, without passing a soul for ten miles. An hour and a half later I pulled into the little mom and pop motel I was staying at, and went into my room.
Then the shakes hit, as well as the regrets. I'd killed three people, and was responsible for the death of my wife. I didn't sleep the rest of the night, but when dawn broke, I showered, walked to the diner next door, and managed a small breakfast. The farmer was surprised to find me in the field so early, and I told him I discovered I already had the part in the truck. Two hours later it was up and running, and I watched for half an hour to see if it was going to hold up.
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I knew it would be bad, but it was still a shock. All that was left of my home were two chimneys and a third of my backporch wall. The cops, the coroner, and people who showed no uniform but had 'cop' written all over them watched me pull up. One deputy walked up slowly. I'd gone to school with Hal, we'd got drunk together for the first time when we were sixteen, double dated, I was even an usher at his wedding.
"What the hell happened?"
"I'm sorry dude. It was almost gone when we got here and there was nothing the fire department could do."
"Where's Angie?"
He put his hand on my shoulder. "She was inside. We're waiting for the hot spots to go away so we can recover the bodies."
"Bodies?"
"Yeah, she wasn't alone. At least three more, and before you ask, we have no idea what's going on."
I looked past him, noticing the two burned out husks in the front, and two more behind in what was the living room. It all caught up with me, the deaths, the betrayal, being awake for forty hours straight, and I passed out. I came to on a guerney, with an IV in my arm. The EMT's were also friends, it was hard not to know everyone in a small community, and Cherry put her hand on my chest. "Lay still, honey. You went into shock, so we're taking you to the hospital for observation, and they'll probably keep you overnight."
"What happened?"
